Hekate’s Bride

*Rune*

The dark voice in my head tells me to cross the room and grab her from where she pulls the weight, rip her clothes and claim her. The sight of her leaves me breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.

They’re all staring at her; her godsdamned beautiful body, her perfect fat ass that jiggles every time she moves, her sweaty cleavage–they seem fuller than the last time I touched them. My fingers twitch by my side and it takes years of discipline to force my gaze from her.

She’s fucking beautiful, and I know all the males are thinking the same thing as she runs the obstacle course. Damn, she gets hotter every day. She still smells like a wolf, but she looks like one of us now.

I shift uncomfortably, dropping my hands to cover my erection. Keeping my expression in check is way harder today. It’s been terrible this entire week. I can swear that there is a change in her.

I thought I’d want it. I have prepared myself for her hate, her anger for years, knowing that one day, she would find out the truth, and she would give in to the pull of the bond, and I would have to reject her.

But this is different, and for some reason, it chaffs.

I have known Astrid since she was little, but that woman swinging from rail to rail with the deadly precision of a stone cold killer, I do not know her.

I hate to think that I brought about this change, but I feel no remorse.

She drops down from the railing and I expect her gaze to snap in my direction, like it normally would, but she grins instead, walking to Darian and kisses him, murmuring words I cannot hear over the raging in my head.

“Are you even listening to me?”

My gaze slides back to Ginevra, and her eyes are glazed with tears and swollen. She’s been crying since yesterday. I have no idea what Astrid told her that’s got her this way, but I’ve never seen her this hysterical.

Her eyes trail my line of sight, over to the other side of the hall where Astrid is kissing Darian and his fingers are tangled in her wild, beautiful hair, and for a split second, I want to be him.

“Why do you constantly humiliate me?!” Ginevra cries, and her voice carries well through the hall, drawing the attention of many.

“Gin,” I start, stepping forward but her eyes droop to my midsection, noting the slight bulge in my pants. She stares at me with disbelief, lips quivering.

I know what comes next. I have dealt with this before. I must pacify her before she opens her mouth. So I move, fingers cupping her cheek tenderly as I part her lips with mine.

She tenses, then relaxes, responding instinctively. She cannot help it. No woman can. The darkness and mystery makes me intriguing. Eye candy to them. They seek me out, trying to see past the surface, trying to ‘fix’ that which isn’t broken–only because it makes for great sport.

But I am not broken, and I do not need fixing. I am different. Something they will never come to understand because my existence defies everything they know. They will never truly understand. What it feels like to be held captive in my own body, unable to think, breathe, hear or move. What it feels like to fucking die every time he takes over.

Small death, I call it.Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

They will never understand my fight, my struggle against the conflicting emotions that arise within me. Centuries of hate and anger, crawling under my skin, seeking a way out, rebelling against me at the littlest chance.

I let go for one second and someone I care for is dead.

They do not know. What it feels like to sleep and wake in my mother’s chambers, fingers closed around her throat, strangling her. They do not know what it feels like to watch from a distance as my own hands move, throwing my father into a walk and cracking his spine. They do not know what it feels like to doze and wake up covered in the blood of the maiden who took care of me as a child. Neither will they know what it feels like waking up in my room to find the bodies of the women I fucked the previous night.

I am Hekate’s tool for revenge. This is both a consolation and condemnation for me. Consolation, because I like to lie to myself. Pretend that he and I are two different beings sharing a body. When in essence, we are one. His revenge is mine. His hate is mine. His anger is mine. His bloodlust is mine. So is his lust.

The dreams have increased lately. Fragments of the past assault me, pieces from his life, my life. I relive them. I cry, scream and die in those dreams. My fear and the pain mingle, causing me to either throw up, or cut myself to keep from shifting.

Each experience is more precarious than the last, and I feel myself losing whatever sanity I have left the longer I try to curb this. Him.

Eventually, I will lose.

It is what comes after that I fear.

My lips move against Gin’s and my finger thread lightly into her hair. Her scent floods my nostrils, a constant reminder that she is not Astrid. I have come to despise it. I have come to hate Ginevra’s touch, and her warmth. I have come to resent this union that I have agreed to, and will not call off, regardless of what the consequences are.

That I don’t get to be with my Erasthai, and it doesn’t matter if I mate with Gin, or go through as many women as I can to keep my mind off her. They will never feel like her, smell like her or taste like her.

Asking her to shut her eyes that night had been to keep her from seeing me battle with my inner beast for control. It is hard to remain in control where Astrid is involved, but I know what the stakes are if I slip up, even a little.

Perhaps, I should have thrown her out the moment she touched me. Now, I have tasted her, I want more. The feel of her clenching around my fingers keep me up at night, and the recollection of the sounds she made with every touch has me skipping classes to hide boners that don’t come down.

The closer the wedding draws, the worst it becomes. I do not see Gin anymore. I see Astrid everywhere. I need to mark and mate Ginevra soon or I might just lose my shit for good.

I pull back from Gin and cradle her head to my chest, stroking her back softly. “You mean the world to me, Gin,” I say, eyes searching across the hall for the familiar redhead, and just like the rest of the hall, she is watching us. There is nothing in her gaze. None of that fire resides there anymore. Blank. Cold. Empty.

But she soon turns to Darian, and she smiles, blue eyes glittering. The bitterness in my gut is near stifling.

*Perhaps, we should pay him a visit at night, tear out his heart. He takes advantage of our mate, touches her, beds her,* the darkness in my head speaks, taunting me.

*Shut up,* I say in return, shoving my mental walls up.

Hekate chuckles darkly, retreating into the depths of my consciousness.

Ginevra’s grip loosens as she pulls back slightly, her gaze fixed on me. Her voice lowers to a hushed whisper, desperation etched in her wide eyes. “Say it again, Rune. Tell me how much I mean to you. Tell me you love me and that the wolf bitch is speaking lies. Promise me you won’t leave me alone at the altar to be with her.”

I do as she bids me. I lie to her.